The sunlight was bright and beautiful, warming his body from head to toe.
Back in Guanshan Town, Li Guokui's favorite thing had been to lie in a comfortable lounge chair in a sunlit spot, spending more than half the day there.
It seemed that this scorching warmth could ease the old skin and deep creases covering his body.
And in that drowsy state, he could always dream of the battles, blood seas, and mountains of corpses from the first half of his life!
Until the day of his eighty-seventh birthday, when he suddenly became some damn Combat Sword Cultivator.
At first, he had thought the sect master of the Heavenly Sword Gate was an idiot. That was probably what most people thought as well.
But now—
"Li Guokui, Seventh Route. Confirmation marker: the large willow tree three hundred zhang away."
A deep, mighty voice interrupted Li Guokui's thoughts. It belonged to the squad leader—well, that was how he always thought of him. In reality, according to the rules of the Heavenly Sword Gate, he should call him Senior Brother Zhu Ti.
Just because the other man had stayed in the illusion for one month and nine days longer?
Bah!
Li Guokui spat viciously in his heart. He respected no one; he only respected the long years, the passing of days and months, because those things could truly torment a bold and dauntless old soldier until only one breath remained.
"Yes! Senior Brother Pig!"
Li Guokui shouted. He had not deliberately stressed the word "Pig," because he knew it was meaningless. If the other man had been a brash young fellow, and if he himself had also been a brash young fellow—ah, this was what it meant for an old man to be steeped in twilight gloom.
Li Guokui swiftly ran